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PRESENTKD CY 



THE SUNKEN STAR 

AND OTHER POEMS 




BY 
ELIHU JASPER SUTHERLAND 



1917 

GARY PRINTING COMPANY 

COLUMBIA. S. C. 



<^' 

>*^^'^ 



ISSUED WITHOUT APOLOGY 



Gift; 



DEDICATED TO THE TRIO 



TO THE TRIO. 

Into my li/e'^s drear morning. 
Like the rising sun you came. 
Bringing me a guidin g flame — 

My empty world adorning ! 

Sweet years qf toil and pleasures. 
We have spent along the way; 
Seeking ever for the day. 

And all its golden treasures. 

Our paths diverge; no longer 
May we wander side by side; 
But I keep you as my guide 

To cheer and make me stronger. 

1916. 



THE SUNKEN STAR. 
(From the German.) 

A star rose high within the sky — 
A star with dazzling ray ; 

And in the sea it proudly saw 
Its face smile back alway. 

Yet in the time of its great prime, 
Old Fate dug deep its grave ; 

And down it fell into the sea, 
And vanished 'neath the wave. 

I, too, am like the sunken star — 
Remembered nevermore. 

Now rolls the sea high over me — 
I hear the breakers roar ! 

1914. 



THE SCRUBS. 

Along the narrow lines, which separate 

Them from the battle like a wall, they lie, 
Or crouch with beating heart and flashing eye, 

And faces plainly showing love and hate. 
They watch intent each play of foe and mate, 

All heedless of the deaf'ning grandstand cry 
For victory — ^their thoughts upon their fate 

Of getting into action. "Do or die" 
Is written on each brow. No matter what 

You call their motive : selfish — brutal — mad- 
The Scrubs are always ready, be their lot 

Whatever it may. No one is wholly bad 
Who wants to do his part and get his shot 

Against the common foe — a gritty lad ! 

1915. 



THE VACANT SEAT. 

I scan each happy face I meet — 

I search for ONE in vain ; 
For vacant is her schoolroom seat, 

And numb my heart with pain. 

Look where I will ; do what I may, 
My thoughts I can't beguile. 

Old smiles on other faces play — 
I cannot — cannot smile. 

The joyless day, the darkened room 
Are mine now — only MINE. 

The light has fled ; deep is the gloom- 
Ah, gone is MY sunshine ! 

1913. 



"CHRISTMAS GIFT." 

The house was still when morning's thrill 

Stalked up the eastern sky ; 
A world of light shone in the night, 

While winds cried fitfully. 

Within was warm ; without, the storm 

Of whirling, dancing snow ! 
And in a bed a little head 

Dreamed on a soft pillow. 

On frosty air the muffled blare 

Of wakeful Chanticleer; 
The little boy sprang up with joy — 

The old-time Christmas cheer! 

Then down the stair with greatest care, 

His noiseless feet flew swift; 
He woke them all, both great and small. 

With shouts of **Chris'mas Gift !" 

1908. 



MY QUEEN. 

A soothing breath upon a hill ; 

A sunbeam in the air; 
A soft perfume amid the flowers ; 

A fairy roving through her bowers ; 
An angel with a heart and will ; 

A gentle lady fair — 
My Queen! 

I would not have you all too fine 

To mend the broken reeds. 
A cheering voice ; a heart so tender 

That balm to pain you need must render; 
Your thoughts and cares — ^they would be 
mine, 
And all your hourly needs — 
My Queen! 

True lips that smile ; bright eyes that shine. 
Though clouds obscure the blue ; 

A spirit that can laugh and weep, 

And bring the rainbow from the deep ; 

You have all these, dear lady mine — 
I'll face the world with you, 
My Queen ! 

1915. 



A PRAYER. 

Dear God : vouchsafe to her Thy smile, 

And benediction sweet, 

And guide her wandering feet 
Safe in the pathway mile on mile 

That leads to Thee. 
Lord : give to her joys manifold 

And pleasures of rare health ; 

To me she is earth's wealth, 
And if for her one thorn I hold, 

O, purge Thou me ! 

1916. 



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THE CALL OF THE WHISTLE. 

On the threshold of his humble home 

Sits a little mountain boy, 
Resting at the close of summer's work, 

Seeking sunset's peaceful joy. 

Hedged about by countless obstacles. 
Maiming people of the hills; 

Yet he knows beyond this wall is Fame 
Hunting men with brains and wills. 

Hark ! How hopeful and inviting calls 
Clear and far an engine's scream ! 

Twenty miles away — but in it dwells 
All the glory of his dream. 

Up he springs, and thrilling with the will 
That has won his race the sea — 

**I will go and meet and conquer it; 
Lord and Master I will be!" 

1916. 



so RUNS THE WORLD. 

The flames ! See how their greedy tongues 
Leap through the open doors and lick 
The shivering bushes right and left! 
How they rise up and up and melt 
Into the smiling sky! 
The people, aye, the people raise 
Their eyes from tracking Croesus old, 
And rush to see the splendid scene — 
A motley mass of jostling savages a-glow 
With craze for something new. 

Give way ! Make room ! They come ! They come ! 

The fighters armed for work ! 

With jangling bells and whistles wide, [swing,] 

Straight down the noonday street, the engines 

Close to the curb. Down falls the roof. 

And great triumphant flames laugh o*er 

Their helpless prey. The crowd is thrilled. 

An hour the engines grunt and throb, [heap.] 
And useless streams of water spray the smoking 
And still the people watch and talk and smile. 
A noble pile it was a score of years agone — 
The city's pride and home of famous gatherings; 
But now the people laugh to see it burn. 

The flames die down; the people file away; 
The sombre smoke is left on guard ; 
The Past, as ever, has received its sacrifice, 
And leaves a thoughtless, happy multitude. 
So runs the world and destiny. 

1916. f 



OLD MAIN 

Long years you^ve stood, O, noble mass! 
A far landmark for those who pass ; 
Our city's pet — our student's pride. 

In vain 
The scoffing critics now deride — 
Old Main! 

Today you stand for progress wide ; 
Tomorrow, swept before its tide, 
You fall. Upon your ruins hoar 

Must spring 
A greater home with welcome door 
A-swing. 

We grieve to say farewell to thee ; 
But in our hearts will ever be 
The old red college on the hill 

So high. 
And now we say with all good- will : 
"Good-bye." 

1915. 



Commemorating razing of original building on campus of 
University of Chattanooga. 



MY CHRISTMAS ANGEL. 

Last Christmas Eve — a bed of pain — 

Shut out from friend and home and world- 
A night of woe ; all through the land 

The pelting snow was wildly whirled. 
No peace without; distress within — 

A place bereft of human cheer; 
And out beyond those choking walls 

I knew a dear friend shed a tear. 

A happy shout and through the door 

A package from the world of snow — 
A box of flowers ; a note of love, 

And dainties only angels know. 
The flowers I kissed with fevered lip ; 

I read the note with tear-dimmed eye ; 
I shared my gifts with homeless men — 

The world was glad, and so was I. 



/J 



The long night-tide I saw a face — 

Awake, I saw it dancing there 
Along the bare dark prison walls, 

And through the windows — God, how fair ! 
And if I dreamed, an angel white, 

With shining eyes and tresses long. 

Walked with me through the blooming vales, 

And cheered me with her smile and song. 
* * * 

Today again I walk with men ; 

I know the blessings of a home; 
But when the world is good to me, 

Alas! My angel will not come. 
I have no blame to speak — I pray 

That, when high Heaven has claimed its own, 
And pain and tears are past, I'll meet 

My angel fair beside the Throne. 

1915. 



OUR FOUR. 

Down beside the winding river 

Where the rippling wavelets flow, 
And the birds are singing ever 

As they fluttering come and go ; 
Where the flowers nod so gaily, 

'Neath the elm and sycamore, 
And the people seek the breezes — 

There WE went in days of yore. 

Four of us there were, and alway 

Each would lend a helping hand, 
As we rode the crested waters, 

Far from noises of the land. 
Oft it happened that the shadows, 

Slipt upon us unaware ; 
But we sang the journey homeward, 

Rowing down the river fair. 

O, the days we spent together 

On the sunlit Tennessee ! 
And the peace and joy and pleasure 

Which we never more may see. 
Broken is "Our Four!" Ah, broken. 

In our Youth so filled with hope. 
But we'll ne'er forget our comrades. 

As through life we blindly grope ! 

1913. 



CHAMBERLAIN FIELD SPEAKS. 

Good friends, old friends, and lovers of my sports. 
In whom red blood, unchecked, still flows, 
Who love the heat as well as snows; 

You who have thrilled to see the Gold and Blue 
Snatch vict'ry from the boasting foe — 
Come listen to my tale of woe. 

I am not old, yet on my fight-scarred breast, 
Fve felt the tread of mighty men — 
ril never see their like again! [Dex.] 

I've known and loved "Big Hamp," and Squibb and 
And Senter, "Woody," "Mac," and "Spence," 
And dozens more who have gone hence. 

Across my muddy length these men have fought 

The same hard fight or lose or win ; 

And wild the cheering stands have been 
When o'er my gleaming lines the Blue and Gold 

Have marched to triumph — but alas! 

Upon my breast now grows the grass. 

A stronger foe has come — a foe within 

The circle of my erstwhile friends ; 

And now in gloom my story ends. 
Rank weeds and sacreligious feet will be [space] 

My guests. And from the vacant grandstand 

Above my dust will smile not one glad face. 

1916. 



TO ELECTRA. 

I saw you once upon a lawn, 
Depicting Greece's olden life. 
Bowed deep with grief and hate, 
Yet so compassionate, 
My heart to you was stoutly drawn — 
I joined you in sad sorrow's strife, 
Dearest Electra ! 

Tonight I saw the depths once more ; 
I went alone — you chose to stay. 
I fought the fight and won — 
You're free ! I will not shun 
The weak man's fate, though stern and sore. 
I have no other word to say — 
Goodbye, Electra 1 

1917. 



/S 



THE SWEETEST GIRL IN TENNESSEE. 

Long years ago I sat me down, 

Beneath Old Lookout's pleasant shade; 
And there within a thriving town, 

I met a joyous, pretty maid. 
Now in her eye was laughter gay. 

And on her cheeks were blushes free — 
O, there Avere none to match that day 

The sweetest girl in Tennessee. 

Through years of daily toil and play, 

She grew a fairy on the earth ; 
And all she touched could truly say; 

"Her weight in gold she's surely worth." 
A dainty maid, but not too fine 

To lend a smile to gladden me, 
And lead me up Life's steep incline — 

The sweetest girl in Tennessee. 

I do not care who lives out there. 

Beyond the borders of this land; 
I know that there is none more fair. 

With softer eye nor truer hand. 
I seek no more to find the maid. 

That God so surely made for me ; 
I've found her here in Lookout's shade — 

The sweetest girl in Tennessee. 

1916. 



THE NEW YEAR. 

This is a smiling year! 

A welcome year to me, 
Who saw the past year die 

Without regret. 'Tis gone, 
And never more may mock 

My nights nor cloud my days. 
This year is mine ! I clasp 

It with deep joy that Change 
May bring a little hope, 

And lay upon my soul 

A soothing, lasting Peace. 

1917. 



GOODBYE, LITTLE SUNBEAM. 

Goodbye, Little Sunbeam, goodbye! 

I wave a farewell kiss to you ; 
I know no better, braver way 

To bid a hopeless long adieu. 

You were my light so long, so long ; 

I miss your trustful, cheery smile. 
I look in vain each morn and eve, 

And sit alone beside the stile. 

The Past is doubly sacred now, 
And long remembered it shall be. 

I oft did know the depths of joy — 

Your radiant beams brought all to me. 

Out of the West a rover came, 

And quickly won from me your smile ; 

I thought the Shadow soon would pass, 
And you'd come back a little while. 

Ah, me ! I knew you not. Fair Light ! 

I wait and long and hope in vain. 
But shine for others. Little Beam — 

The world is full of Cloud and Rain. 

1917. 



AN APRIL MORN AT THE FRONT. 

A redbird sings above the battlefield. 
A playful breeze steals from the East, 
And on its bosom floats the soothing smell 
Of violets and dandelions— springtime breath 
Of bonny France ! Sword-blades of grass 
Push up a-top the death-kissed parapets, 
And gaily nod to grimy guns, 
Which watch in sullen silence o'er 
Their lowly beds. 

Across the tangled web of barbed wire, 
A gaudy butterfly is dancing drunkenly. 
A watchful sentry hums a song of home, 
So low his neighb'ring foe cannot 
Perceive his "hole." A crimson arc creeps up 
The eastern sky, and shafts of lambent light 
Dart through the lifting mist. 
A bugle's song sounds sharp and far 
Upon the air. The camp's astir ! Tis dawn ! 

Along the line a rumor runs. 
It grows — it leaps — it flies ! 
A gasp of hope and doubt escapes the trench. 
"America will fight with us!" 
A shout as from a hungering host 
Breaks from ten thousand throats. 
"We win!" they shout delirious. 
But now a weakling shakes his head — 
"Another hundred thousand lives ! 
Already France is full of rotting bones! 
I see no end!" Two redbirds shout 
Their cheer above the crouching foes. 

1917. 



^1 



PREPARE THE WREATHS. 

Once more America is roused ; 

Once more she sends her sons 

Against a horde of Huns, 
Who seek to strangle Liberty, 
And make the world their sporting ground. 

To this our land says: **No!" 

And out to war our heroes go — 
Prepare the wreaths! 

The sword is out — across the deep 

Our ships shall sail some day, 

And take Our Boys away 
To fight for Freedom and dear France. 
Crusaders they; and what they win 

Will be for God and Home ; 

Then back to us they'll proudly come — 
Prepare the heroes' wreaths! 

Perchance, the waiting will be long: 

Love's eyes will weary grow, 

And only God will know 
The hope, the fear, the woe and pain. 
Perchance, they'll sleep in bonny France, 

And ne'er return to you. 

Be brave and to their trust be true — 
Prepare the martyrs' wreaths! 

1917. 



A SHATTERED DREAM. 

Today I lay beneath the shade 

Of leafy oak and purring pine ; 
Below me came the peaceful sound, 

Of tinkling bell and lowing kine. 

A mock-bird swam the clear blue sky, 

And trilled a merry roundelay; 
A dozen others caught the tune, 

And gaily flung it far away. 

Behind me shouts of noisy lads — 

"Joe, soak the horse-hide!" told the game. 
"Ah, peaceful land of peaceful ways!" 

I mused aloud in happy frame. 

Hark! Sharp and sudden "rebel yells" 
Athwart yon woodland send their thrill; 

And up the slope, with bayonets fixed. 
Five hundred charge Old Snodgrass Hill. 

I sit aghast — my dream is gone ! 

My rifle's clutched within my hand — 
I see a world on fire with WAR, 

And millions marching through our land ! 

1917. 



^V 



THE RIVER FAIRY. 

Oft Pve wandered in my fancy, 

Down beside the Tennessee, 
Where glad flowers show their faces, 

And the wavelets dance with glee. 
There Fve cooled my fevered forehead — 

Soothed my aching, breaking heart; 
Seeking solace from my sorrows, 

From the weary world apart. 

And I know a "River Fairy," 

Living there upon the water. 
Gayest girl in all the country — 

Queen of joy and glee and laughter! 
Softly steals her influence 'round me ; 

Smiles and gladness bring the sun. 
Ah, forgotten are all worries 

Where this fairy's foot steps run ! 

So you see when storm-clouds lower. 

And the world is sorrow-dark. 
Why I seek the soothing river — 

Why I seek my fairy's barque. 
Let Old Wealth hoard up her treasures; 

Let Ambition never tarry. 
All I want is Love and Laughter — 

Just my little "River Fairy." 

1915. 



MY OLD SWEETHEART. 

I sit alone ; my light burns low 

Across the pages still unread; 
My mind is filled with memories 

That will not slumber with the dead. 
Dim shadows steal about the room, 

And sounds of tripping footsteps come 
Adown the years I thought were gone, 

And softly distant voices hum. 

Now gently blow the winds from home 

And darkness steals along the land. 
Sweet thoughts come back across the years, 

And in one's presence now I stand. 
Out of the city's sickening din — 

Far from its joys I want to flee ; 
For over hills and valleys wide, 

My boyhood sweetheart calls to me. 

I see her now, as sweet and fair. 

As when I left my native hills; 
I see her standing by the gate — 

Ah, how my heart with longing thrills! 
I feel her little hand in mine ; 

And in her eye I see a tear; 
Her trembling lips now softly breathe : 

"Farewell! I shall be waiting here." 

Fve searched throughout the wide, wide world ; 

I've seen the jeweled lady's face — 
God's beauty blackened by display. 

And health outlawed by stiffling grace. 
But far away on Youth's old hills, 

There dwells a little maid of love; 
I'm going back to kiss her lips. 

While twinkling stars smile down above. 
1916. 



DEAD ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 

Dead on the field of battle! Dead 
Just when the daring lads he led, 
Swift as a mountain torrent, sped 

Straight on the foe. 
Dead on the field of battle ! Dead ! 
And nevermore can it be said : 
"He leads in front where once he led" — 

He lieth low ! 

Dead on the field of battle ! Gone ! 
The hour of Vict'ry's splendid dawn 
Beholds his gleaming sabre drawn 

Alas, no more ! 
Dead on the field of battle ! Slow 
His silent comrades come and go 
Across the trampled, blood-red snow— 

The guns still roar! 

Dead on the field of battle ! Mourn 
The brave young life in battle torn ; 
Back to his home let him be borne— 
Without him gloom ! 



Dead on the field of battle! Tell 
About his deeds by wayside well, 
And how the hail of shot and shell 
Proclaimed his doom. 

Dead on the field of battle ! Gay 
Were all his words that fatal day, 
When swift he dashed into the fray — 

It must be won! 
Dead on the field of battle ! Weep 
For him no more. His warriors sweep 
The foemen trenches — never sleep 

Till it is done. 

Dead on the field of battle! Naught 
Could turn him from the goal he sought — 
The dearest victory ever bought 

By blood of brave. 
Dead on the field of battle! Keep 
The young vines green that softly creep 
Across his bosom. Let him sleep 

Calm in his grave! 

1916. 



^r 



ON DEATH OF JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 

Again stern Death has stooped and plucked 

The purest flower; 
Beneath dead Summer's bosom sleeps 

A man of power. 
A heart of Love has ceased to beat 

To the rythm of Youth ; 
Soft fall the tears along our land — 

Tribute to our South ! 

Sad, sad, sad is the moan that comes 

To the lips of man; 
Sweet and tender myriad thoughts 

Rise without a ban. 
Lonesome nods the Little Boy's head — 

Sadder, sadder still. 
Out of the gloom and sorrow calls 

A lone whip-poor-will. 

Weep, weep, weep, ye sons of Adam! 

Slowly sing thy song ! 
Gone, gone forever is one hand 

That made thy heart strong. 
Yet he leaveth weighty lessons — 

Learn them one by one; 
Let Youth and Hope come back again — 

Nay, he is not gone ! 

1908. 



TO THE HILLS. 

I turn my face to the far-off hills 

That gleam in the silent night; 
Like peaceful heights of Paradise, 
They draw me with a thousand eyes 
To strive for the Fair and Right. 

I see the trees, like sentinels, 

That sway on the wind-swept crest; 
I see the cabin-dwellers' lights. 
Deep in the vales and on the heights — 
The homes of the humbly blest. 

The moon hangs low far down the west. 
And soft o'er the hills it shines. 

A million stars smile down above; 

And through that region of utter love, 
I know not a heart repines. 

There on the hills are Love and Joy — 

The best of the life worth while. 
Tonight I long for what they hold : 
Their peace and thrill and moonlight gold- 
But most for a girFs dear smile. 

1914. 



? 



JUNE. 

Out of the East the wind blows fair ; 

The hills are clothed in green; 
Far on the mountain's distant crest, 

A misty haze is seen. 
Above, below and all around. 

Breathes in a fragrance true — 
Of sweet, calm, deep'ning Summertime, 

With ships on seas of blue. 

Adown the valley comes the cry 

Of harvesters at work; 
The yellow wheat bows to their hands — 

As yet unlearned to shirk. 
Amid its golden stalk-walled aisles, 

The quail calls all day through; 
The redbird flaunts his scarlet coat, 

'Neath ships on seas of blue. 



The air is laden with sweet hopes, 

Born of the joys of June: 
And these are sweetened with the thought: 

"They may not wither soon." 
So think we in the days of June — 

The soft old days so few : 
We live again our long-past hours, 

'Neath ships on seas of blue. 

O, radiant and happy days — 

Most joyous of the year! 
We welcomed you ; we sadly drop 

Upon thy tomb a tear, 
Farewell, dear month of Life and Light; 

My thoughts shall be with you! 
And I shall live and love and sing, 

'Neath ships on seas of blue. 

1909. 



THE CAPTIVE. 

All gay and gorgeous waved the flags, 
Stirred by the wand'ring, misty breeze; 

Old Glory blazed along the streets, 
As Autumn leaves upon the trees. 

The Southern city swarmed with foes — 

The foes of fifty years ago ; 
But now they tramp the Southern soil 

As freely as their Northern snow. 

The Yanks had come to tread again 

The fields of corn where once they fought. 

And greet their olden foes with love, 
Which many years of peace had taught. 

In long, close lines the people stood — 
The children of the Boys in Gray — 

To watch the thin Blue ranks go by: 
The remnant of a noble fray. 

With tott'ring steps the boys in Blue 

Marched down the long, flag-clouded street; 

At ev'ry step fresh cheers broke forth. 
The grizzled foemen-friends to greet. 



Into the city's thorofare, 

The column swung with pristine life; 
And bent old forms grew strangely straight. 

And spryly stepped to drum and fife. 

The cheering thousands held their breath ; 

For by the Yankee leader's side, 
Arrayed in brightest Southern Gray; 

A Rebel proud and gay they spied ! 

Then burst from out that patriot throng, 

A storm of cheering long to be 
Remembered as a fit tribute 

For all who fought with Grant and Lee. 

A pert young Reb called to the Yank; 

"You have a captive there, I see." 
"That cannot be," the Yank replied, 

"To him and you we bend the knee!" 

And grander stepped the passing Vets, 
And prouder beat the hearts of men; 

For none were there who did not know 
The North and South were one again. 

1913. 



^( 



OUR ANSWER. 
U. C. Class Poem, '17. 

The world's gone mad ! The clumsy laws 
Of honest men are set at naught, 
With very much that they have wrought. 

New standards live a day and die ; 

Sects, parties, classes seek a cause 
To crush opponents: All is lost 
But Truth and Love. We know the cost. 

Down through the ages came our creeds, 

And Liberty — our heritage. 

How'er the warring passions rage, 
We must not lose it — future life 
Depends upon our present deeds; 

And while our flag floats in the sky. 

To keep it sacred we will die. 

We feel the heart-throb of mankind; 
The breaking chain, the lifting head 
Have filled all tyrants full of dread. 

And thrilled us like a draught of wine. 

We joy to see the unbound mind; 
And to the slaves of distant lands. 
We give with hope our hearts and hands. 

The Past bequeathed us treasures vast — 

All bought by sweat and pain and blood; 

The Future waits to use the good 
That we can give from all our store ; 
The Present is our own to cast 

Upon the waters. Are we steady? 

Yea, tell the weary we are ready. 

1917. 



CAMP JACKSON. 

Here pines and sand! There sand and pines! 
Through fields of scrubby corn and cotton white, 
The groaning trolley crawls to rest 
Five hundred yards below a city newly built 
Upon a rolling ridge— a pretty sight 
To tempt a passerby a fleeting hour. 
Long "double-deckers" street on street 
Reach out a toilsome space, and still 
Reach on beyond the murmuring pines. ^ 
Like busy bees, ten thousand workmen toil 
Amid the tangled mass of plank and pipe 
And ditch and joist; and while you look 
A dozen barracks rise. Yet underfoot 
The shifting, slippery sand! On every side, 
As far as eye can see are pines and choking sand! 

To this fair desert came a host 
Of ardent warriors, bent on serving Liberty. 
They knew great sacrifices — ah, the goal 
Was worth the utmost cost! 
So joyous, eager, glad they came! But none 
Were ready for the pines and sand. 
Beside, not very distant lay a den 
Of ravenous wolves, which, maddened by 
The sight of helpless stranger-guests 
Forgot the Law of Stealth, and ran 
Hog-wild to win the Temptress— Wealth. 
Then back to camp and sand and pines. 
A pleasant change— to pines and sand! 



J13 



But stranger, here you see the place 
Where Uncle Sam has built his mill — 
A sturdy mill for making soldiers brave 
And conquering. From out this riot 
Of haste and brawn and brain 
And lumber shall soon march a trained 
And trusty host of fighting men. 
Then on to France ! To meet the wolfish Hun- 
The false, unstable, tricky Hun; 
To pay a score of crying debts ; 
To rescue France, and speak our word 
For slaughtered Belgium. Let Adversity 
Now teach her lessons fine ! O, wolves 
And sand and pines, you teach us well! 

1917. 



NEW JOY. 

Great joy is mine ! Today 

Has seen a re-birth of my life. 
The bitter pain of two 

Long years of helpless hope is gone. 
Upon the past I draw 

A friendly curtain and forget 
Its racking Memories. 

The future's bright with rosy dawns, 
And in my heart now sings 

A song of triumph ; for this mom 
An old Friend smiled at me. 

1917. 



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